Page 104 of The Stranger

My fingers fold around the edge of his desk as though hanging on for dear life. I tip back my head as the Mediterranean sun blazes through the window, bright enough to bleach the world into blindness. No shadows or darkness to protect me now.

Excitement ripples through me at the thought, soft and silky, like caramel through ice cream. Anyone could see me, naked and spread across the desk. Or open this door and see us like this. The risk feels like lightning in my blood, the possibility as real as his hold.

His head lifts, and his gaze follows. Unlike last night, he offers me no reassurance but a sly-looking smile.

“I would show you off to everyone,” he whispers, low and rough. “Stripped bare for my pleasure.”

Heat consumes me. Shame and pleasure wash through me. It’s such a heady concoction. Why do I react like this? It feels so unreal, and I don’t mean like porn. Him and me, now—this moment. It’s worship and war. It’s risk and its seduction as he pops the button on my shorts.

My body moves with the violence of the motion as he drags them from me, my bum moving across the burr walnut. I want to say something clever as he yanks them down my legs, but all that comes out is a caught gasp as his thumb slips inside me, peeling me open to bare my clit.

“You like the sound of that, don’t you, little flower?”

I nod like a marionette, hot, sweet shame showering me as my hips move into his touch. As my bum sticks to the desk. As I hear myself growing so embarrassingly wet.

I moan as he strokes over the soft rise of my clit, both my brain and body seduced. His fingers slide lower, two fingers driving inside me. A tight revolution of his thumb over my clit and I’m done for.

“They’d watch you bloom. Breathe you in as they watch the flush of your excitement stain your milky skin.”

“Oh, God.” I close my eyes, seeing myself up on that stage, faceless people watching as Luc drives me to my peak.

“But only I would get to fuck you.”

“Yes!”

“Mon dieu, you’re so fucking perfect.”

I want to tell him I’m not. That he should punish me. Fuck me against the glass like the shameless slut I am in my head. But my nice girls don’t admit such things. Not that I look like much of a good girl right now. Legs parted, chest heaving, nipples wet and glistening. And loving every minute of this.

In a moment of daring, I slide my thighs wider. He smiles, an oddly sweet-looking thing but with teeth, like he can see right through me as he brings his mouth to my ear.

“Can I help you with something?” he taunts.

“You should stop talking and do something more useful with your mouth.”

His chuckle is filthy as he drives those fingers deep inside me. Strong fingers. Experienced hands. I want to feel them everywhere as he twists his wrist, his dark lashes flickering as his lips close over my nipple again.

I arch my back, gifting my body to him. I want what’s left of my clothes to disintegrate as his clever mouth slides down the underside my of breast. A press of teeth and I moan before he kisses his way down my torso, teeth and tongue and lips exploring every inch.

I’m strung so tight, I feel I might break. Snap like the stem of a flower.

This is such a rush. I’m moments away from coming apart under the hands of this man. Again. His fingers sunk so deep and curling inside me as the smooth glide of his freshly shaved cheek touches my belly. He bites the soft flesh, and I buck. And I curse. He hasn’t even gotten to the good part yet, and I’m already on the brink. I feel so light-headed, I wonder if I might pass out. I inhale a deep breath, hoping that will help.

It doesn’t. I feel like I am nothing but the place where his mouth has been and the places it hasn’t reached yet.

His teeth graze just south of my navel, before the point of his tongue slides lower, and slips inside me. It feels so good, it ought to be illegal. I lose track of everything—my dignity, the awareness of this risk—as a ragged moan slips out of me.

Luc stops, just for a heartbeat, glancing up at me as his mouth lifts with a slow, hungered kind of amusement; his face is close enough to drink in my every twitch.

“Those sounds make me want to swallow you whole.”

I shouldn’t make so much noise, I know. But the walls are thick and his office far from the kitchen.

“Make me want to suck the marrow from your bones.” His voice sounds so rough, the refinement of the man nowhere to be seen. “You make me forget everything I’m supposed to know.” French this time. A language I’m not meant to understand and a sentiment I’m not meant to comprehend as his tongue flicks at me again.

My hips buck clumsily—I don’t care. I just want this. I need this, I fear.

“So slick and pink.” The sound is more of a masculine groan as though the sight of my pussy is some source of awe as he peels me open by the v of his fingers.